Indian Summer
by iluvaqt
Summary: Complete Vignette. Preseries. Lydecker's past, a reflection from the Summer of 2002.


**"Indian Summer"**  
by: iluvaqt@hotmail.com 

**Disclaimer:** All the characters belong to their respective creators, including Cameron/Eglee Productions and 20th Century Fox Studios. No money is being made from the use of these characters. It is written solely for Dark Angel fans.   
**Summary:** It's the summer of 2002. The man he has become is a far cry from who he used to be. An angel from his past brings meaning to his future. Character's reflection.  
**Rating:** PG-13   
**Code:** Short  
**iluvaqt's Notes:** Challenges from SisterMoon & Star24, from dafans.proboards9.com. I combined the summer theme and pre-Pulse idea. 

* * *

**It's Just Another Summer... **

It was seven years ago, two weeks to date. Her once radiant olive complexion now a pale ashen, those always loving sparkling brown eyes, dull and empty. She tried to smile for me but the pain she felt ensured I witnessed the effort it cost her. I was a highly decorated Captain in the Delta Force Army at the time.

Just the year previous we'd lost our first child, a stillbirth. Just minutes before we'd listened to the heartbeat in awed excitement. The joy of life, a precious bundle that would be ours, testament to the union of two loving parents. What I wouldn't give now, to go back with the saving knowledge to change the outcome. The little girl was born the umbilical cord tight around her neck. Her little face blue, lips a pale gray. From my position I could see the child whereas Grace couldn't. I also watched the grim exchange between the nurse and doctor. I kissed my wife on the forehead, she'd had a long labor and the delivery had taken over thirty minutes. Thankfully, she closed her eyes and rested. It gave me the opportunity to ask the doctors to clean the child up before they showed her to Grace. 

Even though I did my best to shield her from the harsh reality of our child's death, she still blamed herself. I couldn't bear to watch her ever go through that again so we never tried for another. It never hit me, not even once, the possibility that we could lose anything more.

It was a cold autumn evening that I came home to find the house raided and Grace on the kitchen floor. There she was, surrounded by broken pottery, glass and blood. I can still remember what it felt like to hold her in my arms, her heartbeat so faint and fading fast. Her hand limp in my caress. I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her hand over and over. Numbly dialling, I held the phone to my ear and half ordered, half begged paramedics to come. I was desperate, but with each passing moment I knew she was slipping away from me. It wasn't long before, I could see in her eyes that the light was dying out. The life spark, the gleam that twinkled in her eyes when she smiled, was being extinguished. Her strength was slowly ebbing away, from the wounds in her body. She was succumbing and it pained me all the more knowing that that I was the one prolonging her suffering. She was holding on for me, fighting for me. I had pressure on her neck wound and I had tied a rag securely around her right forearm. She was covered in defence wounds and studying her only made me what to punish her attacker more brutally when I got my hands on him. My basic first aid and the medics' prompt arrival gave her the best chance, the doctors assured me. But after three hours of surgery, she died in recovery. A year, two months and sixteen days after we lost our baby, my Gracie died.

I never felt more empty or bitter in my life. I'd served in wars, seen men die, watched all kinds of horrors unfold before me, but nothing could even touch my soul as much as seeing Grace's lifeless features, against those pristine white sheets. Nothing would wipe the image of her broken body, lying helpless in our small kitchen. Her blood soaked dress and matted hair, the lump that had threatened to choke me as I spotted the knife that inflicted her injuries. Just an innocent kitchen knife, but there it was, taunting me with it's bloodied blade and sullied handle.

It's a hot summer in Gillette, Wyoming. The scorching heat and dry earth were notorious for giving men thirst driven delusions. Yet, I stood out here waiting.

It was seven long years ago, that my life changed. Time has warped my life beyond the recognition of any of my colleagues, past and present. My parents who lived in Ireland, are distanced from me by more than just travel. The last coversation I remember having with my father before he died, was over my alcoholism. And well Grace's family, they never really approved of our relationship much less our marriage. They probably blame me for losing their daughter. It certainly looked that way the day they stood across from me at her funeral. Two years ago I signed onto a secret government project. It's mission statement alone, sold me. _"To create the prefect soldier."_ Engineered to be resistant to disease, the hazardous elements and having expert training. Designed to surpass human intelligence and have super human ability. Anything for the chance to end the grief of families over lost love ones. There would always be war, always the need for order and control. There was hope, the opportunity to make a difference, for the greater good. And that flicker of faith in the back of my mind, that somehow being a part of this might someday avenge Grace's death.

The kids, my kids, are still small. Most of them are between four and two. Still too young to push too hard, yet we do the training we can each day without stretching the limit too far. They're in afternoon exercises at the moment. Doing the boot camp course, it's an oversized jungle for those little ones now but one day it will be a baby's playground. 

The harsh glare shifts for a moment and my eyes remain unfocused. I hear laughter and voices. Suddenly they seem clearer. Under the shade of a large pine tree I see her, her beautiful long auburn hair blowing freely in the light breeze. She's wearing my favorite dress. The button down one with pastel colored flowers patterned over a creamy fabric. The cut accents her womanly curves, clinging to her breasts and waist. She's beaconing to me and I walk to her slowly, not believing anything to be real.

"Deck..." she whispers. 

I hear giggling and I let my eyes follow to where Grace is looking. 

"She's ours. Our little angel. I watch her everyday." 

She's smiling at me, while watching the child play in the open field. I can't see the child's face and all I hear is the sound of wind rustling the branches of the tree above. 

"Promise me you'll take care of her. Promise me, my love." She looks at me with sad eyes now and I know she's leaving.

"Grace don't. Not yet." I reach out wanting to hold her and I almost chock when I touch her hand. She's here, she really is. I hug her to me tightly, never wanting to let go. "I love you." My heart is stretching painfully as the memories of losing her come rushing back.

She smiles up at me, gently touching my rough cheek. I need to shave again. "You'll take care of her for me?"

I nod. I'd give her anything. It's then she disappears. I close my eyes. I don't understand. How can I care for our child when she was never really born?

"Sir." There's a unanimous address from behind me and I turn so abruptly I nearly lose balance. They finished up so quickly. I look over the group, impressed. All twenty-four, presented in order and lined up uniform. One of the smallest catches my eye. I still remember the day she was born. Her mother fought tooth and nail to hang on to her. The baby with a thick mop of dark curls and big brown eyes. She sure had a good set of lungs for a small thing. Why do I have this inkling in my back? I look over back at the tree and for a moment I see Grace there smiling at me. 

"Take care of her for me." I hear the plea once more.

Looking back at X5-452, I see Gracie's eyes staring back at me.

_I promise Gracie, sweetheart. I promise._

  



End file.
